


And Then There Is the Soul

by floateron



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Sherlock discusses with himself, Sherlock's Mind Palace in 221B, can be taken as romance or gen, i don't care which
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:09:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floateron/pseuds/floateron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's Mind and Sherlock's Body argue over who has been the most affected by an outside source. It must the Mind's fault. No, it must be the Body's fault. They are both wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Then There Is the Soul

Sherlock’s Mind crossed his legs in his chair, contemplative. His fingers beat against each other as he scrunched his face in obvious concentration. 

From the couch, Sherlock’s Body grew increasingly fidgety. He turned his head from his antisocial curl to nastily glare at Sherlock’s Mind. Still holding himself, he practically spit at his counterpart, “For all your loud thinking, one would imagine you would be able to deduce the source of trouble!” 

Sherlock’s Mind snapped his head toward the outburst. “There would be nothing to deduce if it weren’t for your irregularities, you idiot,” he grit out with disgust on his face. 

Sherlock’s Body rolled his eyes. “Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed the changes in you,” the Body replied, “Don’t pretend like you haven’t noticed the word slips, the shift in priorities, the-”

“Oh, like you’re beyond the changes, you self-obsessed imbecile!” Sherlock’s Mind snarled as he cut off his Body.

Sherlock’s Body laughed bitterly as he sat up slouched against the couch and placed his feet on the table. He intertwined his fingers over his stomach and replied, “Tell me- has our association with such morons really lowered your I.Q. so horrendously, or are you just playing stupid to annoy me? Because there is something wrong with Sherlock, and you’re being idiotically obtuse.” 

“Occasional distractedness; unexplained behavior in the arms, neck, eyes, mouth, fingers, occasionally legs; impulse control failures in the mouth, arms, hands; erratic respiratory patterns; erratic heart beat; distorted perception of sensory stimulus-” Sherlock’s Heart rattled off with his fingers.

He was cut off by a rude snort from the couch. Sherlock’s Body raised his eyebrow as he leaned back into the couch before retaliating, “Misclassification of outside stimuli; misclassification of internal conditions; occasional minimization of important concepts, such as work, criminal investigation, and scientific inquiry; occasional exaggeration of minor priorities, such as companionship and foreign opinion-” Sherlock’s Body was also cut off.

“Idiots. Both of you.” The voice came from the doorway. The figure smirked as he strolled in, comfortably taking his seat in John’s chair. 

Stunned silent, the other two had widened their eyes and paused. The new figure took the opportunity to grab some tea from the table next to him. “Sherlock Holmes,” he drawled. “ ‘Fucking shit up.’ That’s the correct colloquialism, I believe?” he said with amusement before taking a sip.

Sherlock’s Mind fell into a rage. “Of course, of course!” he growled, “Stupid, stupid. It was so obvious, I-” He cut himself off and began to swear.

Sherlock’s Body reacted more aggressively. “What are you doing here?” he bit off with a derisive scoff. 

The “intruder” showed clear irritation. “Irrelevant. My presence doesn’t interfere with the capabilities of you too this much. If you can’t understand what is going on, then clearly Sherlock is a stupider creature than he lets others believe."

Sherlock’s Mind hissed in irritation. “Your presence is not needed. You are a manipulative, asinine, immature child. It would do everyone well for you to just. Go. Away.”

“Yes, yes, we’ve already had this conversation. Dull. Repeating yourself is beneath you,” Sherlock’s Heart bit. “What? You didn’t actually believe a child could get rid of his Heart? For good?” Sherlock’s Heart condescendingly raised his eyebrows in false expectation. Mockingly, he asked, “And I suppose you think that I’m at fault for your incompetence? Let me enlighten you. Your behavior around John has nothing to do with me.” 

Sherlock’s Mind and Body responded with disdain and a complete unwillingness to even consider the possibility. Juvenile, Sherlock’s Heart thought. Sherlock’s Heart sighed to convey his repulsion for Sherlock’s Body and Mind: long, drawn out, and pained. “Let’s look at the facts, shall we? You like him. No, no, don’t give me that look,” Sherlock’s Heart halted at the protest on the face of Sherlock’s Mind. Sherlock’s Body looked suspicious, but was at least listening. Sherlock’s Heart continued, “Of course you like him, he helps doesn’t he?” With a wild expression, Sherlock’s Heart waves arms around, “A ‘conductor of light’ you called him? Sentimental, don’t you think? Even I wouldn’t have come up with such nonsense.”

Sherlock’s Heart waved his arms as if to physically dispel the very thought. “That’s not even to mention the silence. Your priorities have changed in your attempts to keep the man. It’s not tampering; it’s natural adaptation. You may have deluded yourself into thinking something was wrong, but in actuality, you couldn’t get rid of John- peaceful, exciting, curious, interesting, courageous John- who would stop the buzz, buzz, buzzing that consumes you. The cacophony that never ends when there is no case- it unnaturally pauses for precious minutes when he is by your side.” 

Sherlock’s Mind was frozen, gaping, like an idiot. Sherlock’s Heart noted that Anderson would be proud of such a vacant expression. Sherlock’s Body became a flurry of movement. He shot up from the couch and began fiddling with various furniture pieces- including the headphones on the animal skull, the human skull, and the knife near it. 

Sherlock’s Heart smirked. “And you,” he directed toward Sherlock’s Body, “you could possibly be even worse.”

Sherlock’s Body snapped his head back toward Sherlock’s Heart, “Don’t say it, don’t you dare say it. I have done my duty; I’ve put the Work first, so don’t. Say. It.”

Sherlock’s Heart took another sip of the cup of tea he had placed on the table in front of him. “Oh yes, you should be quite proud. You have such a steady grip on the finer intricacies of denying oneself daily trifles such as sleep and nutrition, as well as ignoring outside stimulus such as temperatures and weather,” he drawled, pausing to take another sip. “You’ve even managed to ignore the physical demands of withdrawal,” he added with a hint of smug amusement. 

Sherlock’s Heart set the cup down next to him as he began the attack. “Quite frankly, you’ve warmed up well to Doctor John Watson, haven’t you? Literally, if your sense perception is accurate,” Sherlock’s Heart began. “Which it isn’t,” went unsaid but heard amongst the three. 

Sherlock’s Heart continued, “Apparently touch starvation is a real and tenacious condition. The human need for contact- bizarre as it can be- is apparently something even the transport of Sherlock Holmes couldn’t ignore-“ 

“Stop it!” screamed Sherlock’s Body, flinging himself to the chair. He braced his arms on each armrest of the chair and hissed at Sherlock’s Heart, “You vile, repulsive, transparent hypocrite! What have you done, then? What do you do?” 

Sherlock’s Heart was about to respond when the front door opened and John walked in. 

After hanging his coat, up, John said hello as he walked toward the kitchen. From the couch, Sherlock stared at John’s chair. 

Sherlock watched as John maneuvered around the flat until finally settling down with his laptop. 

He tapped the keyboard for a little bit (checking his emails, off work early, his mates are arranging a pub night tomorrow) and noticed Sherlock’s observation. “Yeah, Sherlock? Did you need something?” he asked, looking up from his screen. 

Sherlock said nothing and held John’s gaze. Grabbing his violin from the table, Sherlock noted that his Heart-who was standing behind John - held a violin of his own in his hands.

“I believe in John Watson,” his Heart said. “That is what I do.”

The two began to play.


End file.
